


Dig me from the earth

by Angelicasdean



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Arthur Morgan Lives, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by a Hozier Song, M/M, Necromancy, POV Charles, Post-Chapter 6: Beaver Hollow (Red Dead Redemption 2), Sad with a Happy Ending, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26048968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelicasdean/pseuds/Angelicasdean
Summary: He buried Arthur in the dirt, where Charles could feel him, can demand the bugs and the insects to stay away, not to touch the beloved body under the ground.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	Dig me from the earth

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't directly linked to my other powers AU but it applies basically the same logic.
> 
> Anyway here's some sad Charthur until it isn't.
> 
> This was inspired by "Like Real People Do" by hozier and a little by "Run" also by hozier

The dirt stains his fingers for days, no matter how short he cuts his nails or how many times he tries to scrub them away.

It sticks between his skin and nails, and he stares at them those long nights where his spells fail.

He doesn’t know how many times he tried now, four months or so after he buried… him… after sickness took away everything and everyone. Physical or mental, the sickness got his family. Got Dutch and had him drive the gang into war and fizzle out, even managed to tear down the innocent Wapiti who did their best to fit together after the loss of Eagle Flies.

Took away Arthur from him, had him wither and wilt like an unwatered flower, each petal falling slowly. Arthur first grew pale, then skinny, then took a shade of awful sickly yellow to his gaunt face, eyes grew dark circles where his veins were visible.

And now here he lies, in the dirt he was first born from.

He knows toying with death isn’t without repercussion, he knows the stories of lovers bringing back their love and ending up shallow and half dead. Or worse, the one they brought back was no longer themselves. Just the shell, with no soul.

But Charles can’t help but try, not after he had found Arthur’s remnants whispering to him.

On the cold evening, two days after he last last farewelled Arthur at the Reservation, when he went back to gather the broken pieces left behind by the gang. The camp had been in embers then, unholy fire still twinkling despite its summoner long gone. He didn’t hear Grimshaw’s voice when he slowly lifted her, so he can properly bury her. Her strong presence was no where to be found, as her slowly rotting body was covered and stowed on the back of Taima.

But Arthur’s—the sound was so soft, Charles nearly didn’t hear it. He found Stormy, Arthur’s beloved stallion, the one Hosea gave to him and Arthur taught it how to love and let go of its crude temper. Once he laid his fingers on the Horse’s half eaten body, Arthur’s voice whispered, distantly. His soul didn’t give up, didn’t fizzle out as it should have.

Charles had hoped that meant the man was still alive, maybe near, hiding in one shadow or another. Arthur was always exceptional at that, disappearing, Dutch insisted it was his gift from nature when nothing else showed up. But Charles learned through the slow nights where their breaths would sync up—Arthur wasn’t born with a gift, but he taught himself everything there is to know in some effort to make himself more worthy. In the eyes of his father. In the eyes of Dutch and Hosea.

Taught himself strength, and wit and how to get out of most situations. How to hunt and skin and tan hides. Learned how to approach animals, how to feel their pain and be compassionate. Learned to read the fish and the tides of the sea. Yet somehow failed to teach himself how to have self worth, in his effort of becoming irreplaceable, needed, Arthur became the most precious thing to everyone but himself.

But he was precious, and that’s all he wanted. His efforts were not in vain.

Everything seemed to work.

Until… it didn’t.

Arthur’s sickness wasn’t one that someone with a gift would get, evident when Charles continued to breathe even after spending nights holding Arthur’s dying body close to him, kissing him, sleeping beside him. He had memorized Arthur’s sick face, the patterns of the veins on his eye lids, the lines of age showing on Arthur’s face. He didn’t grow sick, never felt the pain in his chest Arthur so angrily described.

Soon enough, Charles promises himself, he will get to commit Arthur to memory again.

He buried Arthur in the dirt, where Charles could feel him, can demand the bugs and the insects to stay away, not to touch the beloved body under the ground.

Rain Falls warned him of his actions, it was really a fifty fifty chance, if even that. Charles can very well lose his own soul trying to bring back Arthur’s.

But Arthur’s soul was already waiting, still hanging on that mountain, and he can’t leave it there.

So he set out, found the herbs and the books and the spells he needs. Dug into the earth where Arthur’s body is and hoped he’d wake up one day, as he threw more and more spells.

Prayed to the earth to bring him back, even promised an eternal debt.

To lose a part of himself for his lover—it didn’t seem like a bad trade.

Yet it never seemed to work.

-

The night was dark, the moon hidden behind thick clouds and the dense trees that Charles had grown to guard Arthur’s resting place refused to let any light through.

The lantern on his hip is all he has.

Charles sets down his books, his herbs, sits on his knees in front of Arthur’s marker and digs.

The dirt never leaves his nails, and it doesn’t bother him anymore. Arthur’s face peaks through the dirt, and Charles gently brushes away some that stuck to his skin. White as a jasmine’s petal, lips a dark blue.

Charles had remembered how Arthur looks dead, just as he did when he was sick. He just wishes he remembered how Arthur looked when he was alive… truly alive, before, in Blackwater when he smiled at Charles more, when the weight of the gang wasn’t crushing his very soul.

He tucks the herb inside Arthur mouth, places the stones on Arthur’s eyes as he slowly tries to enchant them. Begging nature to bring his lover back, begging with all what’s left of his soul.

The rocks turn white where the salve he used drew the thin lines of the spell, and for a flash, Charles could swear Arthur’s veins filled with light.

Charles waited until the rocks died, crumbled into nothing but ash and smoke and rolled off of Arthur’s face.

With a sigh, Charles drops his head to his chest. Dirt fills his palm again as he prepares to bury Arthur once again—feeling failed and disappointed—and the thought brings the everlasting ache in his chest to a stuttering climax.

Maybe he isn’t meant to bring him back. Maybe Arthur found happiness where his soul lays, watching over the mountains undisturbed.

Charles pushes the dirt over Arthur face, nearly gasping when Arthur’s eyes snapped open.

He hadn’t noticed how color had come back to him, purple lips slowly fading at the edges to a pink. Eyes that were once rolled out of sight now staring at him, bright and so familiar it brings a different ache to his chest.

“Arthur,” Charles sighs, feeling his eyes growing wet as he throws the dirt to the side, cradling Arthur’s face, “Speak to me” he nearly begs again, hoping that Arthur’s soul still lies within him. That he didn’t just bring back a body.

“Charles,” Arthur croaks, voice weak as he cough, shoulders shaking under the dirt.

Charles hurries away, remembering his weight probably all weighs down on Arthur’s chest, apologizing as he throws away handfuls of dirt to dig out Arthur’s body entirely.

The trees arch around them, all responding to Arthur and Charles’ distress.

“What-why”

“Now, now,” Charles whispers, still feeling as though touched by disbelief. As though speaking too loud, the man he loved so much would crumble just like the rocks had.

But he doesn’t, as Charles guides him out of his grave, to a corner where Taima lays in the small patch of flowers he’d carved out for her. Arthur watches as Charles guides water to him, has him drink and eat and sit down to get used to being back in his body.

Charles watches him too, the blood slowly circulating him again, watches as slowly Arthur’s cheeks grew their normal blush and the pale figure he spent months staring at hoping to spring back to life disappears.

“You heard me,” Arthur whispers, later in the night when Charles built a fire and a small tent made of wood for them to rest in, “up—up there”

“I did,” Charles confirms, handing Arthur another strip of meat to eat. Despite gaining his color back, the weight he lost in sickness and death still remained. Arthur was only skin and bones, clothes that he once comfortably fit in now hanging off of him like tents.

But his chest rises and falls steadily, and there’s no longer a wheeze to him. His eyes will lose their dark circles as time goes on, and his skin will grow muscle and fat under it soon enough.

“You brought me back,” Arthur then adds, “you… you—”

“I…” Charles stammers, “Did you not want me…to?”

“I’m… “ Arthur looks down, head that was once full of long and golden hair now almost bald, with only a few strands left. “You brought me back… are you okay?”

“Okay?” Charles echoes, a little lost.

“Hos… Hosea used to tell me what would happen…to them folks who raised the dead… he got sick because he tried it with Bessie,” Arthur explains, face slowly morphing to worry, “You—”

“I’m okay, I don’t think anything happened to me,” Charles soothes, pushing the dirt from under his nails.

“You didn’t have to,” Arthur adds, “I watched over you... I don’t remember much but I remember seeing you, on that mountain. You visited”

“I… I couldn’t bear to live without you, I… you… you didn’t deserve to die so soon, like that, alone”

Charles looks at Arthur, their eyes connecting, warm brown to lively blue-green. Arthur slowly smiles, cheeks flushing a bright red as he adjusts his shirt.

“Well, I’m one lucky son of a bitch, Charles Smith,” Arthur says, tone a little brighter, a little stronger as he finally eats the food in his hand, “I love you”

“I love you too, Arthur… always.” Charles promises, and Arthur looks at him with nothing less than love and endearment written across his gaunt—but alive—face.

And as Charles leads them both out of the forest, both men perched on Taima’s back and the sun begins to rise, Arthur places a kiss to Charles’ neck. Charles could feel the pages turn, and the ink being brought down to start a new chapter.

A chapter where they can live far far away, alive, till the end of their time.


End file.
